


Afterward 3

by Camfield



Series: Wake up Call [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title:  The Afterward - 3<br/>Continuity: G1</p><p>Universe:  Wake up Call<br/>Characters/Pairings: Jazz/Prowl, Jazz/Ratchet, Ratbat, Ratchet, Optimus Prime<br/>Rating: NC17</p><p>Warnings: Mentions of character death, cannibalization of parts, religious ritual, Sticky Sex, Oral<br/>Disclaimer: Nope, not mine...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterward 3

Jazz was standing outside the Ark, Ratbat awake and perched on his shoulder in an abnormal display of focus. Optimus Prime and Ratchet were the only others present, the only others Jazz had wanted there.

The war had left them with little in the way of resources and all the dead mecha had been stripped and sorted into their meager supplies. The only thing left was the spark chamber and even that would be melted down to use for repairs once this ritual was performed.

Jazz was strangely calm, his charge kept at bay in the presence of the sparks yet to depart to the well. They were waiting for their Prime to deliver them, to absolve them.

It started with Jazz. A low hum coupled with a side to side stomp.

Step, stomp. Step, stomp. Back and forth as the deep sound grew in intensity and volume that jumped sharply as Ratchet and Optimus Prime vocalized their own hums.

Ratbat entered in, his high voice weaving a haunting melody through point and counterpoint, trilling and calling to his siblings and creator with all the emotion he could muster, his single focus on their lingering spark energies swirling around his body, cementing as much of their feel into his processor before they truly left this plane.

Jazz was in a similar state. Optics shuttered as he focused with singular intensity on the many ghosts whispering across his plating, cooing their affection, their hate, their desires to him as they surrounded him in a last contact.

Two stood out, were stronger than the rest, and tears dripped down Jazz’s face plates as he rocked into their energy. He wanted to shout at them, to curse them, and to hold them close all at once, to apologize and snarl and tear into Prowl again for taking his life away, for taking their lives away.

‘Be at peace Jazz. We do not blame you.’

Soundwave’s meta touched his own briefly and it broke his hum into a wail of despair. Discordant energy rocking his EM field and dispelling all but Soundwave and Perceptor’s sparks as he keened loss and pain to the stars. The hydraulics in his legs hissed and failed and he hit the sand with a thump.

“Ah shoulda done somethin’ more! Ah shoulda recognized it sooner, then yah wouldn’ be DEAD!”

Ratchet and Prime knelt beside him, their own voices still arched in cavernous song that seemed to fill the whole desert with its volume. They grasped his shoulders and rested helms together, providing any support they could to their fallen comrade as he poured out his grief for his dead companions. 

The energy swirled around his helm one more time as the song reached its apex before the invisible suddenly turned visible, sparks lighting up the sky as they shot toward the well with their blessing from the Prime.

Physical pain suddenly gripped Jazz’s chest and he clutched at it, sharpened fingertips digging into the damaged metal as he tore his own chest plates open. Energon streamed from cut lines, mixing with coolant and oil as he dug further into his own internals until he reached the spark chamber and all but ripped into the supports keeping it in place.

His hands were grabbed and forced out of his chest even as Ratchet snap soldered the supports back into place. 

“Ah’ll send yah m’self slagger! Yeh belong in th’ PIT”

Optimus kept a firm hold on Jazz’s hands, optics tracking the pink lines of fluid that dripped into the sand.

“Jazz please, stop!”

He paid them no mind, visor winking and flickering dangerously as he struggled against their arms. 

“Ah don’t wanta be alone! Never alone and yah took em all away! Yah aint enough Prowler!”

He howled again, feverishly trying to wriggle out of the tight grasp he was held in. His hands grasped at nothing, clawtips digging into whatever plating they came across, and Jazz wailed. 

“Ah don’t wanta be alone!”

It took Ratchet and Prime a long time to pin Jazz fully to the ground, both nearly pressing their full weight on the Porsche until he finally stopped struggling, his only movements great shaking sobs that wracked his already damaged body. 

They gathered him up between them and sat on the sand until the dawn light began to peek over the horizon. Nuzzling helms, Ratchet clung to both Prime and Jazz in a fierce hold that belayed his own fear, his own trepidation. 

“You aren’t alone Jazz! Please don’t ever think that!” Ratchet clutched him tighter, body curling over the black and white frame as if in order to protect it from the outside world. “Please don’t think we’d ever leave you!”

Jazz pulled his friends, his protectors, closer and fluttered kisses across their lips. His own hands held tight in each of theirs, as much to keep them from Jazz’s own internals as to reassure them all he was still here. Still alive.

‘Poor Pet, too bad they won’t ever see you as I did. Something to be treasured and coveted by one and one alone, no? It almost makes me cry how sappy you three are.’

The shaking started again, Jazz throwing insults about Prowl to the wind and sun, clutching the hands that held his own fiercely.

“Ah don’t want yah anymore Prowl! Yah ain’t nothin’ good for anyone, ‘specially not meh!”

A hardline cable snuck out from Ratchet’s shoulder and connected to Jazz in a moment.

‘Oh… I see. You think Ratchet would be better for you? Perhaps Prime will take you, he already knows how delicious you are… You should be grateful I allow that pest of Soundwave’s to keep you company darling, even if it is only because what you do with him is delightfully wrong.’

Ratchet’s processor nearly stalled to ‘hear’ a second voice echoing within Jazz’s helm. 

“No! It ain’t like that! It ain’t!”

‘Oh but it is, Pet. And each time you get him off he goes just that much more off his rocker. You surely notice he isn’t quite all there… Little more than a drone, one that delights in using your glossa like a spike, you think he cares for you one bit? Be reasonable Jazz…’

Ratbat was getting worked up, his link with Jazz vibrating with arousal and fear.

Anticipation.

Jazz was trying to claw into his chassis again, static and indecipherable noises blaring from his vocalizer as Prowl tore into his mind.

‘You think anyone will let you offline so easily? That medic is too compassionate for his own good, letting you live in such a state… Of course, I had counted on that during my planning. It’s hard to let those you love go, isn’t it Pet.’

Ratchet finally understood the human phrase about staring at a train wreck. He didn’t want to hear what Prowl was saying, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the connection.

‘Just think, all you have to do is let him unseal your panel and find what’s left of me inside you. Perhaps show him your box of playthings? I’m sure you’ve noticed by now they still look and feel as fresh as the day I harvested them… wouldn’t you like to know why?’

Ratchet would have gagged if he could have. There was only one thing Prowl could be referring to.

“Ah don’t wanta know anything! Get outta mah head! OUT!”

Laughter filled Jazz’s processor, pressing Ratchet to the side as well as finally noticing his presence.

‘Oh Pet! You didn’t tell me he was here, listening this whole time?”

Jazz focused inward enough to feel Ratchet and a howl of angry intent slammed into his EM field.

“Yeh better leave him alone! He ain’t got nothin’ t’do wit this!”

‘No? You’re smarter than that Jazz, think of your own needs. Ratchet does have a perfectly capable spike, and I know for a fact he’d love to slide it into your valve. Press you down and hike your legs wide, filling you until you beg for more… Just like I used to do, don’t you remember?’

A memory file seemed to start playing without the command and suddenly Ratchet found himself staring down at an aroused Jazz. He had his hands flat on… a berth? Beside Jazz’s black helm and leaned down to nip the sensitive sensor horns before smoothing his glossa over the bite. Each lick drew a pleasured hum from the Spec Ops Commander and hands reached up to smooth over his doorwings-

Wait, doorwings? 

But the memory file kept playing, Ratchet tied into the sensations emanating from the body he was currently inhabiting.

Prowl’s body. 

Jazz’s hands smoothed over his/Prowl’s doorwings, digging the tips of his fingers into the joints and sending magnetic pulses straight through the wiring. Ratchet/Prowl arched back with a low cry before pressing them together in a hard kiss, their glossas tangling together in a mock fight for dominance.

Ratchet/Prowl rocked his hips into Jazz’s, grinding their panels together with a snarl that was sucked from his mouth. Jazz wasted no time, letting his valve panel slide open and baring himself to the air. Another snarl and Ratchet/Prowl started mouthing and biting down Jazz’s chassis, spending a moment to circle one headlight with the tip of his glossa, to the waiting valve.

It clenched on air, knowing anticipation making Jazz wiggle his hips from side to side. His fingers clutched the edge of the berth and he let his legs spay wide, one pede coming up to rest flat on the berth, the other sliding off to dangle over the side. Ratchet/Prowl clutched black hips and drug them closer to the bottom of the berth before pressing kisses to the exposed cables and metal plating to Jazz’s inner thigh.

“Primus Prowler… what did Ah do t’deserve a mech like yeh?”

Ratchet/Prowl bit down gently before nuzzling Jazz’s bent knee, chuckling softly. “The question, dear Jazz, is what I did to deserve the buffet laid out in front of me.” He moved to the other leg, mouthing the apex of the thigh, just to the side of that clenching valve. “It is always hard for me not to skip straight,” he pressed a kiss to the thigh, “to” a kiss to the bottom of the abdominal plating, “dessert.” A kiss to the valve that lingered, tongue lightly tracing the upper rim just shy of the sensor cluster there.

Jazz’s thighs tensed and he vented heavily, the barely there touches playing him like a finely tuned instrument. Ratchet/Prowl smirked and stroked the housing on either side of the slickening opening, moving in to lick in languid strokes from the bottom rim, dipping slightly into the valve and back out before repeating.

He paused to lick one finger, smoothing it ever so shallowly through the soft folds of metal where his glossa had just spread the lubricant beginning to drip onto the berth padding. Ratchet/Prowl pressed the finger inward, just slightly, then pulled it back out and moving his face in to kiss the juncture between thigh and pelvic plate once more. He directed a vent of hot air at the sensitive cables and watched them tighten in response.

“Come on babe, please! Teasin’ ain’t nice…”

There was no answer, just the press of a finger back into the slick folds, moving deeper with each shallow movement. Ratchet/Prowl kept the digit thrusting and added his glossa again, pressing them in together before licking a striped upward, circling around the sensor node and diving back into Jazz’s valve in a steady rhythm.

As soon as Jazz began making those breathy sounds again, he stopped, instead rubbing his nasal sensor back and forth over the array. The lone finger slowly, slowly started to move again. Dragging over sensors and spreading lubricant in an impossibly tender manner as Prowl stared into Jazz’s optics, the sheer lust deepening them into indigo range that would flash white every few moments.

For a frozen second it was only the impossibly slow movement of Ratchet/Prowl’s finger that differentiated them from a holopicture, he brought the finger up to his mouth and licked it, optics never leaving Jazz’s, before hooking it just inside the lower rim of the valve and pulling downward.

Jazz’s abdominal cables tightened up and he groaned at the sensation. His calipers clenched on nothing, but the feeling of the rim of his valve being stretched was glorious, a wonderful facsimile of the weight of Ratchet/Prowl’s spike that made him clench again in anticipation.

“Ah ah Jazz, so eager tonight! I want more than one overload out of you pretty, just relax and let me do all the work.”

A whimper, but Jazz forcibly relaxed himself as much as he was able, just lying open on the berth. His visor was dark, offlined, as he focused his attention on what Ratchet/Prowl was doing.

Ratchet/Prowl kept the slight pressure downward and pressed his glossa directly to the anterior sensor node, swirling it in a careful and firm circle. Jazz’s abdominal cables clenched so hard he rose off the berth, his body curling inward even as his legs shook but stayed in place. He reached for Ratchet/Prowl’s helm and pressed him closer, vents coming in short and quick bursts. 

“Ah! Pleaseeeee babe!”

Another finger was added and they began thrusting carefully, stopping every few strokes to pull down on the lower rim of the valve, stretching it. Glossa flicked out to join them, undulating through the metalflesh folds, sucking them into a hot mouth to graze them lightly with denta before letting go. He pressed again to the anterior node, rooting against it, and his laugh vibrated into Jazz as the saboteur clutched at his helm with a mewl of pleasure.

Fingers thrust more quickly and Ratchet/Prowl buried his face into Jazz’s array, lipping, sucking, nipping and licking until Jazz arched back in overload, keening and wailing even as his hands pressed the doorwinger further against that spot… that one spot!

A glossa swiped against it with singular intensity, prolonging his overload until it was all he could do to remember to vent air in to try to cool his systems. He clutched behind his knees and pulled them up to his chin as the last of the aftershocks left him and Ratchet/Prowl swept up to pin him in half, entering the loosened valve with one swipe of his hips.

“Come on babe, spill it in meh. Ah know yeh love seein’ it drip outta there, nice an’ warm… Let it go Prowler.”

A groan and Ratchet/Prowl shuddered, thrusting a little more quickly, a little more forcefully. Jazz felt his own charge building back up and locked his ankles around Ratchet/Prowl’s neck flicking his own glossa out to lick the crimson chevron so close to his face.

They trembled and rocked together, Ratchet/Prowl capturing Jazz’s lips in hungry kisses. Jazz felt Ratchet/Prowl tense up and wormed a hand between them to rub his anterior node furiously. He watched his lover rise up with a wordless cry, wings thrown wide as he overloaded hard. The rush of transfluid pulsing again and again into him until it leaked past the spike and pooled beneath them and still Jazz rubbed himself, legs swinging wide to clasp Ratchet/Prowl around the waist, keeping the now softening spike inside.

“So close babe, so close!”

And he was, Ratchet/Prowl watched him press his middle finger directly on the sensor node and rub hard, writhing from his own touch. It took just a few seconds and Jazz jolted into his second overload, a burst of lubricant squeezing past the still seated spike to spatter them both.

Ratchet gazed down at Jazz, a smile on his faceplates, and leaned in for a tender kiss…

“DAMN YAH! LET HIM GO!”

Ratchet jolted, finding himself back in Jazz’s processor and hastily disengaged as Prowl laughed, the cruel sound echoing through them both as he shook, plating rattling, horribly aroused. 

Optimus picked them both up, cradling his friends close and turning a prayer toward Primus. 

There was nothing left to do but pray for those who would be left behind.


End file.
